Warnings: some gore, mild language

All gruesome events herein are based on actual events.

A bit of a coda to 'Upward and Onward' (6x22); 'Sherlock' anons, see end of the chapter :)

Marco had to bite back a sigh of relief as the Station 51 crew watched Cap tip his chief's exam materials into the trashcan. For the last week, it felt like Hank Stanley had been replaced with a tyrant, their usually laidback and kind captain becoming almost manic and erratic about regulations. Even Henry looked relieved, still in his spot on the couch. At least we won't be constantly mopping and buffing floors anymore. Still, something in Marco felt bad everything had gone this way.

Cap had honestly seemed excited and enthusiastic about taking the chief's exam, truly wanted to move up the department ladder. Marco believed he could, too. Captain Stanley was a great fireman and a good leader, a good man. He would be a wonderful chief one day. Part of him was selfish, though, and didn't want Cap to leave. Marco knew things would have to change eventually, as they had to, as they always did. Their shift was running on borrowed time as it was. Other stations had been through entirely new shifts almost twice by now. Their shift had only changed captains once, and that was back in late '70. It was unprecedented.

He looked around at his shiftmates, everyone having settled down again. The brass had been sniffing around Johnny and Roy, wondering why neither had moved up to engineer or captain yet. Mike was making noises in private about becoming a captain, also. As for Marco and Chet, the engineer's exam was hanging over them. These weren't necessary steps, of course. There were lots of guys who remained linemen or engineers for their whole careers. I'm surprised the brass hasn't decided to make some transfers for us already. They'd been known to do it before.

Shaking himself mentally, he looked back up. No one appeared to have noticed his silent contemplation. That's good. He didn't want anyone to know about his worries since he had proclaimed he was no longer a worrier. Chet tipped his chair to look back at the door, then leaned in close, stage whispering, "Hey, fellas… anyone ever find out why Cap set McConnike's hat on fire?"

"Nah, I tried to ask," Roy said, "but I couldn't get an answer."

"Martinez at 8s never said why?" Mike asked.

"I don't think he knows," Roy replied.

"How would he not know?"

Roy shrugged, "How the hell should I know, Chet? Maybe he's been sworn to secrecy."

Chet's eyebrows shot up. Oh, here we go… The lineman leaned a little further, asked, "Sworn to secrecy? What, are you sayin' they're in a cult or some shit?"

"Wha-? No- Chet, I'm not sayin' anything! All I'm sayin' is that maybe he knows, but everyone decided to keep it a secret. It happens."

Exasperation was clear in Roy's expression. Marco stifled a snort. The bickering was business as usual, and it settled his nerves a bit. Chet and Roy continued to argue, occasionally prodded by Johnny at the right times, fueling whichever argument he preferred at the moment. Finally, starting to feel a bit guilty, Marco cleared his throat and stated, "Well, I might know something about it."

Chairs scraped against the floor as his friends surrounded him, all looking at him expectantly.

"See… Lee Martinez and Cap worked together with a guy named Hooper who's an engineer now," Marco explained, "Hooper's a cool guy. I've worked OT with him before. Anyway, his probie year was spent at 8s with Martinez and Cap and McConnike. I OT'd there the other day with him, and I joked about how Cap was gettin' antsy about McConnike bein' his chief and the exam and everything… and he mighta told me."

"Okay, but are ya gonna tell us or keep us hangin', Marco?" Johnny asked.

"Gimme a minute… anyway, he kinda let it slip what happened. Now, I'm warning you all, it's an extremely touching story."

"We'll get the tissues later," Roy said, "Spill it."

"Well, the most important thing to know in this case is that Hooper is black. Apparently, some of the guys at 8s were treating Hooper more poorly than the usual probie, and Cap and Martinez both felt it was outright racist. Martinez brought it to Cap, who went to the guys and told them to stop, but they said they wouldn't unless the captain told 'em to. But, when Cap went to McConnike, he refused to tell 'em to cut it out. I guess Cap got fed up and took it out on McConnike's hat in order to get some attention. Then, the bad behavior stopped. Hooper got a 'lil misty-eyed when he told me, actually."

Marco had never particularly thought of Cap as a crusader for justice. He knew the man to be fair and unbiased, but an act of retribution like burning a hat wasn't something he expected, though he was pleasantly surprised by it. Everyone else seemed pretty impressed, also. All eyes turned to the office. Cap was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"Really, Lopez? You were all so fired up over the hat, you went and found Hooper?"

"I didn't go lookin' for him, Cap!" Marco protested, "It just kinda happened that I worked with him."

"Honestly, Cap, that was a better reason than anything I could've thought of," Roy responded.

Cap shrugged, "Someone had to stop it. Why not me?"

Shame… He's gonna be a great chief one day.

xXxXx

Roy's seen a lot on the job, as a fireman, as a paramedic. A lot of it has simply been ridiculous, such as toes in faucets and weird fads turned dangerous somehow, but some were downright gruesome, like the worker who drowned at the sewage plant or the thief whose head was impaled by a flashlight. There were days when he was quite certain he'd seen it all. Of course, he was often proved quite wrong once that thought entered his mind.

The call came over the radio for them to assist the police with a wellness check.

"Thanks, fellas," the officer greeted them at the squad, "Neighbors insisted on havin' some paramedics on hand. They're worried about this old woman, umm… Mrs. Westcott. No one's seen her in a little over a week. They thought maybe she'd just gone away for a bit, like to a home or the hospital or something, but they all realized no one had been asked to pick up mail or papers or anything like that. Nice to know people still care, isn't it?"

"S'pose it is," Johnny replied.

Roy hummed in agreement, following his partner and the officer to the door. They'd been to wellness checks before. Usually, the person had simply left and forgot to tell anyone. Sometimes they just died without telling anyone. There were very few occasions when the paramedics could actually help. Johnny went around, peeking through windows.

"Hey! I see somethin' back here in this bedroom! There's someone on the floor!"

The officer said, "That's enough for me," took a few steps back, aimed a perfect kick to the door. It crashed open. The cop immediately gagged at the smell, a mixture of fecal matter, urine, and decay that hit them as if they'd walked into a wall. This won't be good. Roy clamped his mouth shut and stepped further into the house, Johnny not far behind him. He felt the younger man close in on him, standing right behind him as if to seek comfort.

There was a clicking sound, nails on hardwood, and a little dog came out to greet them, all scruffy and dirty and starting to mat in places.

"How long was it since she was seen?" Johnny asked.

"The officer said right around a week…"

That would certainly explain the smell. The dog was another cause. Roy looked down, trying to avoid stepping in the dog feces that was scattered through the house. It was disgusting. They were in no way, however, prepared for what they found in the bedroom.

Roy swallowed against rising bile. The woman had apparently died there on the bedroom floor some time ago, with decomposition beginning to set in. The worst part was not the decomposition. The worst part was that she had clearly been eaten by something, most likely the little dog. Part of the face had been almost eaten to the bone, the lips completely gone, the teeth bared gruesomely. The nose was but a stub. The hands, too, had been picked to the bone. One clouded eye still peered out of the skull.

"I think we better call the coroner," Roy stated through clenched teeth.

Johnny made a noise of agreement, and the two turned and carefully picked their way out, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air at the squad.

"You fellas look pretty spooked," the ME said when he arrived, "What's in there?"

"An older woman named Mrs. Westcott. Neighbors say they haven't seen her in something like a week," Roy replied, "My partner and I went in an-… and she appears to have been dead for some time, and… umm… her dog appears to have eaten some of her."

The grey-haired coroner raised his eyebrows, responded, "Hmm… what size dog?"

Taken aback by the question, Roy simply blinked at Quincy for a moment before answering.

"So fairly small… I presume the hands are gone? Most of the face?"

Roy nodded.

"Any immediate signs of foul play? Gunshot wounds? Stab wound?"

"None that we could see, doc."

"Alright… hey, I'll give ya call in a couple days when I'm all through with the autopsy, okay? Where is she inside?"

"Back in the bedroom. Just make sure to watch your step…"

Back in the squad, Johnny settled in and said, "That is one weird dude."

"I'll say. It's just… He's so nonchalant about death, so unbothered."

Johnny hummed, responded, "Yeah… but just think of all the shit he's seen on the job. Every major murder in this county has gone to Quincy for autopsy. Suicides, too. Y'know, I heard once he got in a guy who tried to kill himself with a shotgun, only he musta flinched or somethin' at the last second. Tore his face to ribbons. Left a big hole with flaps of skin-"

"I get it, John!" Roy interrupted loudly, "Jesus… I don't need all the gory details."

"Okay, alright… I'se just tryin' to make a point."

"What point?"

"That there's a reason Quincy is so weird. I don't think anyone normal can do that kinda work. Hell, firemen ain't exactly normal, either."

"I guess you're right," Roy replied, "Y'know, we're pretty weird about stuff now, too. Before I became a paramedic, I woulda thrown up out of sheer nerves if you asked me to do half the stuff we treat as routine now."

"Oh, I'm right there with ya, pal. Damn near shit myself when we first started learnin' about deliverin' babies. Now that's just another shift."

Roy didn't reply. When he'd first joined the department, he knew he'd see danger and death and pain. I was so naïve. They'd seen a multitude of odd injuries and weird deaths, had climbed up and down all sorts of buildings, gone into holes and onto scaffolding. He looked over to his partner. Johnny was only three years younger than him, but he always seemed much younger, especially at the beginning.

Still goofy, still sweet, still kind, Johnny really hadn't changed much at all from their first meeting, and yet he'd changed a great deal. Roy couldn't quite put his finger on it, though, on how his partner had changed. They'd been together for seven years now come March, seven years as partners in the paramedic program. There are marriages that have lasted less time than our partnership. Indeed, he sometimes thought their relationship was much like a marriage. They had to learn to live with each other in close quarters, with the other's idiosyncrasies, with any simple differences of opinion. They had to know how the other thought, what his next move would be in the heat of the moment. Johnny shook the hair out of his eyes.

"I think you need a haircut, Junior."

"Aww, Roy, not you, too…"

xXxXx

"Well, that was Dr. Quincy, the ME," Johnny said, walking into the day room.

"And?"

Chet perked up. The paramedics had told them of the old woman they'd found during the wellness check last shift, and he was morbidly interested in what happened. Johnny ran his hands through his hair, took his time before speaking, seemed to purposely leave everyone on edge for as long as possible.

"C'mon, Gage! Spill it!"

"Okay! Gimme a minute… Just- It's pretty gruesome, and I'm just tryin' to figure out how to explain it."

"Basic is probably best," Mike spoke up.

"Reckon ya got a point there, Stoker. Alright… so Mrs. Westcott, the woman partially eaten by her little dog after she died wasn't only partially eaten after she died."

There was a long silence.

"Quincy said about a week ago, Mrs. Westcott had a stroke that left her paralyzed, and because she doesn't have any family or anyone to check up on her, no one knew. Guess the dog got hungry after a couple days and went to town thinkin' she was dead."

"You mean… she wasn't dead already?" Chet asked slowly.

"That is correct. He said she'd only been dead about two days, but the amount of flesh eaten by a dog that size indicated to him it had been goin' on for about three days before she died."

Chet suppressed a shiver. This is one of the more horrible deaths I've heard of. He'd heard some pretty awful things in Vietnam, saw some terrible things as a fireman, but this one was definitely up there. Everyone was silent, likely all thinking the same thing Chet was. How horrible must it have been to know what was happening and feel it and be completely unable to stop it? He couldn't suppress a shudder that time, felt it roll up his spine like a wave. It's enough to give a fella nightmares. He hoped none would come tonight.

"Station 51, Engine 15, Engine 8, garage fire with injuries…"

They run to their positions, the squad pulling out before the engine, both vehicles speeding to the call. The small garage was fully involved as the arrived. Marco ran to hook up the line, and Chet pulled on his tank and air mask along with Johnny and Roy.

"Kelly! Pull a line around to cover Gage and DeSoto!" Cap called.

Chet hurried to obey, pulling the line around, feeling it grow heavy as it charged. Adrenaline coursed through his blood. He opened the line, planting his feet against its power. Hands settled on either shoulder. I am their way in. The large bay door was gone, melted and eaten by flame, so Chet pushed his way in, Marco and Cap joining with another line. Thick black smoke poured from the small structure. Johnny's hand gripped his shoulder, and Chet knew his friend was carefully scanning the space in front of him, looking for the victims.

"Roy!" Cap shouted, "Roy! I got word there's two victims inside! Father and son!"

Chet's stomach rolled, his chest tightening, but it didn't remove his focus.

"There! Roy-!"

Johnny's hand left his shoulder as he dove headlong into the burning garage, obviously having spotted the victims when they hadn't. Roy's went soon after, the paramedic swiftly following his partner. Chet moved in behind them, dousing them with spray to protect them from the flames. His job was to protect his friends right now, and their job was to worry about the patients.

Roy emerged first, bearing the burned body of one of the victims, probably the father. This was confirmed when Johnny appeared carrying the son, a teenager. Chet tried not to look, but the charred body passed right by him. He looked away quickly, focused his attention on the fire once more.

"Chet, go help Roy and Johnny, would ya? They need extra hands," Cap told him.

He wanted to protest, wanted to ask him to ask Marco, but he didn't. It wouldn't be fair to Marco to have him set to the grisly task, so Chet simply passed over his line and went to do as he was bid.

Johnny and Roy were working furiously, passing the biophone back and forth, tearing open packs and prepping IVs.

"Chet, we need more sterile sheets," Roy told him, "Quick. For me and John."

The sight of the patients turned Chet's stomach. The father wasn't so bad, but the son… I've never seen anyone burned that bad. The son must have been at the starting point. His entire body appeared burned, his skin blackened and peeling off, was burned to the bone in places like his fingers. Johnny did not attempt to remove the victim's clothing, pieces of it stuck to the charred skin. Both paramedics bid him get the line, Roy saying, "Now just go easy on the water. We don't want 'em too wet… don't want hypothermia… Yeah, that's it, enough to take the heat off… Good, go to John's patient."

"Here, Chet, I'll do it," Johnny said, "You come over here and keep baggin' him… Okay, good… I just wanna go bit by bit… wanna check it's cooled as I go so I know when to stop… Good job, Chet, keep goin' like that… Perfect…"

Chet ignored the churning in his stomach at the sight and smell, focused on the rhythm of the bag. He won't make it. It's too much. Chet knew enough first aid to know that burns this severe and extensive, particularly over the torso, were almost always a death sentence. As a paramedic, Johnny had to know it, too, yet here he was, doing everything he could, working as hard as he could to try and save a life when he knew it would be futile. He blinked back a sudden onslaught of tears. It would not do to cry here. If there were to be any tears, they would have to wait until later.

"Follow them to Rampart with the squad, Chet," Cap said, coming over after the ambulance had loaded up and left, "How-? How bad was it?"

"Really bad."

A hand gripped his shoulder, a comforting gesture, and Chet climbed into the squad.

xXxXx

Mike was finishing up the dishes when the phone rang.

"Station 51. This is Stoker."

"Stoker, this is Dr. Early. Are Roy and Johnny there?"

"No, they had a run a little while ago… child stuck in a fence. If they haven't called you yet, then they're probably on their way back now. Want me to pass on a message?"

"I'd rather pass it on myself, but I think I'd like to let you know what's going on, too," Early said, his tone softening, "The Brenton boy, the one who was very badly burned in that garage fire the other day… He, uh… He succumbed to his injuries today. He died a few minutes ago."

Mike's heart sank. Logic told him this was inevitable, but he'd still hoped for a miracle. Johnny's gonna take it hard.

"Thanks for calling, doc, I'll- wait… I think they're back…"

The squad rumbled into place and fell silent, and Mike could hear Johnny's voice, "… would learn! I mean, how many kids do we gotta unstick from fences before they figure out they'll get stuck? It's ridiculo- Oh, hey, Mike. Who's on the phone?"

Mike tried to keep his voice light, tried not to betray the advance knowledge he had, and it seemed to work.

"I'll take it, Roy," Johnny said, and Mike passed him the phone.

He and Roy stepped away over to the sink, where Mike whispered, "The Brenton kid died."

Roy made a soft noise, told Mike, "It was only a matter of time, really. His burns were too extensive."

"Still, it's a shame."

"Yeah… yeah, it's still a shame."

There was a click as Johnny hung up the phone. Something like anger was in his face as he left the kitchen and went outside.

"Hey, what's goin' on? Gage get dumped again?"

They turned. Chet stood by them, eyebrows raised, a smirk starting on his face. The smirk faded quickly when he looked at them. He asked, "What happened, fellas?"

"The Brenton kid passed away today," Roy replied, "Early just called."

Chet gave a quiet, "Oh," and stood for a moment before following Johnny outside, Mike and Roy watching him go. In a surprise move, Chet and Johnny had announced they'd decided to rent an apartment together. Even Roy hadn't known anything about it, and Johnny usually wouldn't shut up about anything to Roy. Mike was happy for them, though. He got the idea they were often lonely, with both of them living alone. Johnny tended to go out a lot more than Chet, but he could sometimes get into a dark mood when things went wrong on a run. They appeared to always be at odds on the outside, but deep down, they were very close. They're gonna be good for each other. Roy walked into the bay, leaving Mike to return to his dishes.

"Hey, mi querido, what's goin' on?" Marco asked, standing by as he finished up.

"Nothin' much. Just doin' the dishes."

"Where's Johnny and Chet?"

"Outside. We just got word the Brenton kid died, and Johnny took it pretty hard."

"Really? I was hopin' he'd pull through somehow."

"I think we all were."

"Yeah… Say, did anyone ever figure out what happened?" Marco asked.

Mike shrugged, "I got the gist of it from Roy earlier. They were doin' some kinda project in there, welding and painting and shit like that… somethin' ignited, and that was it. Got the kid's shirt and wouldn't go out."

"Doesn't make it less awful."

"Nope, it doesn't."

"You said Chet's with Johnny?"

"Yup."

"Good."

Marco stepped close, and the two leaned against the counter, taking peace from the other's presence. Mike felt himself smile as Marco's hand rested atop his own, a warm, pleasant, comforting weight.

For my lovely anons: The Sherlock (BBC) fic I mentioned last chapter is called 'Gone Is My Past' and can be found on AO3. It is rated T.